


The Christmas Guest

by geekmama



Series: Lost and Found [3]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Elizabeth remember that first Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remembering

A long while later, they lay twined together, sated, the covers pulled up close around them against the chill, and, completing her contentment, he made no move to go.

“’s all right,” he murmured, eyes closed. “Gibbs’ll come if I’m needed. Wore me out, you did.”

Elizabeth studied the face next to hers on the pillow, golden in the waning light of afternoon. The fey, Sparrovian animation was absent, replaced by a quiescent beauty that made him look both more mature and more youthful at once. She reached up and ran a finger along the edge of his jaw, the curling facial hair soft-rough to the touch. His eyes opened, and focused on hers, warm and penetrating, as always. She subdued the little thrill, and frowned a question.

An answering frown. “What? Have I something on my face?”

A bubble of laughter rose, and her voice shook as she said, “No! It’s just… what do you look like? Without all the hair and ornaments?” She smoothed one ruffled eyebrow, and ran the backs of her fingers against his cheek, just because she could.

He reached up and caught the hand, and kissed her fingers, tenderly. “Don’t look like a pirate, that’s certain,” he smiled. “Fella called me ‘fetching’ once.”

She chuckled. “Oh, dear!”

“Mmm,” he agreed. The eyelids drooped. “Couldn’t look ‘fetching’ an’ still be the best pirate in the Caribbean, could I?”

Elizabeth smiled, thinking yes, he could, and did, and he certainly was. But she said, instead, “How glad I am that Father asked you to come to me.”

“Aye. Though Will asked first.” He opened his eyes again at her sudden stillness.

“How was this?”

“ ‘Twas that first Christmas. Remember?”

She did, and her expression lightened. “Oh. Yes. I remember. How could I forget?”

“How indeed?” he chuckled, and let his thoughts wander back...

Captain Jack Sparrow of the _Black Pearl_, grandest pirate ship in the Caribbean (and, quite probably, the _World!_), should have been filled with the joy of the season, or so he thought. The trouble was, he wasn’t.

Jack hadn’t bothered much about Christmas during the last ten years, when he’d been adrift and taking whatever inferior ship and chance of employment came his way, but this year should have been different. This year, they should have been docked here in Tortuga and hosted a monstrous party, celebrating the death of his old enemy, his fabulous escape from hanging, and his return to the captaincy of the _Black Pearl_. Not to mention other happy events and circumstances: his attendance (in disguise and without mishap) at the wedding of Elizabeth Swann and William Turner; the expansion of Commodore Norrington’s “one day’s head start” to include most of the previous year (possibly due to Jack’s policy of completely avoiding English ships and settlements); and his continued and most convenient access to the vast treasure of the Isla de Muerta.

The latter was what had him at loose ends now, for, as his beloved ship needed careening, he’d elected to hire workers to accomplish this, and gave the whole crew fat bonuses and leave for the holidays. Jack almost thought it would have been better if they’d had to do the work themselves, or at least that he should have stayed to supervise, but Gibbs had offered and Jack had taken him up on it readily enough, thinking that two weeks of carousing in Tortuga would be the next best thing to celebrating on the _Pearl_. How wrong he’d been.

Maybe he was getting old, he thought morosely, as he wandered along through the town, his tricorn pulled down and his coat collar pulled up against the rain that had been drizzling for days. Somehow the raw and raucous _life_ of the place wasn’t making him happy like it usually did. He remembered how enthusiastically he’d extolled the town’s virtues to Will when he’d brought the boy here that first time: ‘twas always entertaining to see a place through new eyes. But, ultimately, Will hadn’t liked Tortuga much, and, though that hadn’t bothered Jack then, it was bothering him now, considerable. His usual haunts, close to the waterfront, seemed seedier than usual, the women coarser, the liquor execrable. He knew the better parts of town, and had made his way there, through the rain, but even these more attractive streets with their well-stocked stores and neat houses failed to cheer him. P’rhaps if he’d had company… but Gibbs was back with the ship, AnaMaria had gone into the interior to visit an aunt and uncle, and the rest of his crew had either found lodgings with friends, or were content to reside in the brothels back near the harbor for the holidays.

Crossing a muddy street, he saw a prettily dressed woman emerging from a store called _Finnegan’s Mercantile_, carrying a number of parcels: Christmas gifts! Admiring the view as the lady retreated up the boardwalk, he crossed to the storefront and peered in. _Finnegan’s_ looked as though it catered to the well-to-do. There was a little of everything on display in the window, from dry goods to fine jewelry, and, as Jack looked the items over, a piece of the latter caught his eye. It was a stickpin, for a gentleman’s cravat, elegant but not too ‘barock’, and surmounted by a black pearl! The thought came, unbidden but immediate: _Will would like that_.

Now where had that come from? And what was he going to do about it? Go to Port Royal, on the sly, just for a few days, playing Father Christmas to those children? He imagined their surprise, and the decorations Elizabeth would have arranged so carefully (their first holiday together, after all!), and the hot rum punch they’d press into his hand, after seating him close to their little fire. And perhaps they’d have him to dinner, as well…roast goose? With all the trimmings? How long had it been since he’d spent a Christmas like that? Lord, they might even try to drag him off to church at midnight—if he stood at the back he wouldn’t be _too_ noticeable, and he supposed they’d sing carols and such, just like they’d done in England when he was a lad.

He looked up and around, shaking off this warm vision, and seeing the reality of his current situation: the muddy street, drizzling rain, palm trees scraggly and dripping. He could stay in one of the better establishments here in Tortuga, but most of his crew would be at the _Faithful Bride_, or the _Blue Boar_, down by the docks, and somehow he wasn’t in the mood to be alone. He frowned up at the unrelenting gray of the sky, and suddenly made up his mind.

“Right, then,” he said aloud, decisively. He’d take the chance. At the very worst he’d have a different set of inns and taverns to choose from. And at the very best…well, he’d just have to wait and see.

He pushed open the green-painted door of _Finnegan’s Mercantile_, went in, closing it behind him with a jangle of bells.


	2. Unexpected

He wasn’t getting old, he was getting ill.

A day into the voyage to Port Royal, Jack woke in the tiny passenger cabin of the merchant ship with a decidedly sore throat. He lay in the narrow cot, staring into the dim light, snuffling, and swallowing rather convulsively, hoping that feeling would go away, that he was mistaken. Good God. How many years had it been since he’d been taken with a septic throat? And to be stricken at this present! Well, ‘twas too late to worry about it now. They’d be in Port Royal in a couple of days. If he was still feeling ill, he’d just stay on the ship and have the little gifts sent up to the Turner’s by messenger. But surely he’d feel better by then!

When they reached their destination, two days hence, it seemed his wish had been granted. It had been a dreadful voyage, for the rain had continued steady, and the seas were consequently choppy and gray. He’d seldom felt less inclined to rouse himself to go up on deck, though his cabin was windowless and alternately hot and stuffy, or cold and drafty, depending on the fickle winds—not at all what he was accustomed to! Getting soft already, living in the Great Cabin of the _Pearl_ for the last year. The thought did nothing to cheer him, and the sight of Port Royal wrapped in low clouds and drizzle, a few lights gleaming from windows of establishments along the waterfront didn’t really help. Still, his sore throat had eased, and though he was strangely weary, and his head ached, he thought he could at least go present his gifts, and find a clean room at one of the better inns before reboarding the merchant ship for the voyage back to Tortuga.

There were few residents about in this weather, and these minded their own business. The town was too active a port to make the presence of one cloak-muffled stranger of much interest. Jack kept his head down, and made his way along side streets to where Turner’s Smithy lay. The change in name had been financed by his wedding gift to Will and Elizabeth, a small chest of gold, enough to buy out Mr. Brown. Jack remembered the route quite easily—seemed like just yesterday he’d been running hell for leather into the town to hide from Norrington and his little marines, hampered by those bloody inconvenient manacles. How he hated being chained! Fortunately, Norrington had seen fit to remove them before chucking him in gaol, and that was the last time he’d worn them, surprisingly. Though there’d been plenty of opportunity later to be “clapped in irons”, Norrington had refrained, and even at the hanging had only had Jack’s wrists tied with rope, and in front of him at that. Jack frowned: had the man been _hoping_ his prisoner would escape? It was a new thought, and a rather intriguing one.

But Turner’s Smithy was locked. _Closed for Christmas_, the sign read, with a little drawing of holly leaves in the corner. Jack smiled, thinking this was likely Elizabeth’s handiwork.

Very well, then. He’d have to go on up the hill to the Governor’s estate, where Jack knew the Turners had been given the large and well-appointed guesthouse for their use.

He’d been to the estate on the day of the wedding, the reception having been held in the gardens. That day had seen perfect weather, sunny with a hint of a cooling breeze, and moreover there had been carriages hired to transport the guests from the church to the site of the party. This day was vastly different. The rain, a drizzle when he’d stepped off the cutter, had increased steadily, and now drummed unpleasantly on his hat and shoulders, making the long trudge up the steep road a very uncomfortable one. Obviously he was still not himself: he usually liked storms, and rain, and was fairly immune to cool weather as well, at least as cool as it got in the Caribbean. Now, however, the road seemed endless. His headache had returned, along with other odd twinges, and he felt dead tired, and was occasionally taken with an inner chill. Not good signs. He considered turning back several times, but then moved on, thinking it was just a little farther, and he’d already come all this way…

Finally the gates came in sight, and no guard was braving the elements to hinder him. He made a sharp right as he entered, and struck out for the back of the property, where the little guesthouse was located, near a cliff that overlooked the sea. It was nice, walking under the trees: they blocked the rain quite effectively with their broad evergreen leaves. But, arriving at the guesthouse, he saw he was doomed to disappointment: there was some kind of construction going on, affecting both the little house and the yard around it, and, though no one was working at the moment, it was obvious that no one was living there at present. Which meant Elizabeth and Will were likely staying with the Governor.

Jack chewed his lip a bit, debating on whether to chance a meeting with Swann. Elizabeth had written that she’d revealed Jack’s presence at the wedding to her father and that he had not been much disturbed to think their “unusual friend” had been there for the festivities. Jack only half believed this seeming complaisance: the man had been ready to string him up after he’d rescued Elizabeth! Sentenced to death for a mangled corset: bloody ridiculous. Of course, it was also the Governor’s odd logic that had swayed Norrington in the end, so apparently he’d had a change of heart, to some degree.

A sudden increase in the rain decided the matter.

It was late afternoon now, and as Jack emerged from the trees and walked across the lawn to the mansion he could see that there was light coming from a wide bank of windows. Cautiously he sidled up and peeked in, and then for a long second was frozen, staring at the scene.

It was the dining room. There was a delicious-looking dinner laid out, and crystal and silver winked against fine linen in the light from a tidy little fire that was burning in a tiled hearth. There were Elizabeth and Will, smiling and beautiful, both, and the Governor, elaborately clad and sporting a fine new wig, and one other diner, an attractive middle-aged woman with twinkling eyes. There was a neatly dressed footman serving, and an old butler pouring out wine.

Warmth. And food. And wine. And pleasant company. A sudden longing to be a part of that gripped him, and, simultaneously, an even more overwhelming feeling that he’d made a horrible mistake. He wasn’t of that world, not any longer, not that he’d ever been, really…

And then, disaster: Elizabeth glanced up, caught sight of him and was seen to give a start; the middle-aged lady noted it, followed Elizabeth’s gaze and emitted an audible shriek.

The sound stung Jack, rousing him abruptly from his stupor, and he backed away. Unfortunately, some careless gardener had failed to take into account the need for random voyeurs to make clean exits. Jack tripped on the watering can with a noisy bang, gave a hoarse yelp of dismay, and fell on his arse with far less than his usual grace. He struggled to rise, but slipped and slid on the rain-soaked turf a couple of times, and then it was too late. As he finally got to his feet they were coming out of the house, and Will was coming toward him, a bared sword in hand.

The lad didn’t raise it, however. “Jack?”

“Aye,” he said. No choice now but to face the music and hope for the best. He tipped back his hat a bit and gave an ingratiating smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

An expression of joy flitted over Will’s face, followed by a concerned frown. “What are you doing out here? Are you all right?”

Apparently he didn’t _look_ all right. Jack cleared his throat. “Just came to give you and Elizabeth your Christmas gifts. But you wasn’t home, eh?” He nodded in the direction of the guesthouse, gave a self-deprecating chuckle, followed by a slight cough.

A look of surprise and sympathy chased the joy off Will’s face, and Jack winced: another thing he hated was being genuinely pathetic, which, he had to admit, was indisputably the case at the moment.

But Will grabbed his arm, saying, “Come in out of this rain! The cottage was flooded—that’s why we’re here for a few days.” Will pulled Jack along, toward the little group waiting under the shelter of the portico. “Elizabeth! Sir! It’s Jack!”

Elizabeth had known it, and was smiling broadly, and the unknown lady looked surprised but extremely pleased as well: apparently legend had preceded him in that quarter. Swann, however, said sharply, “Jack Sparrow! What the devil?”

“_Captain_ Jack Sparrow!” Elizabeth corrected, and grabbed Jack’s other arm as Will pulled him up the steps. Elizabeth said to the older lady, “Mrs. Hathaway! I must beg you to be circumspect: I know you are aware of our dealings with Jack and I assure you we count him a friend!”

“You’ve no need to worry on my account, dear, but you’d best speak with your servants,” Mrs. Hathaway said with brisk glee, as they hustled Jack into the house.

Elizabeth and Will let go of his arms and Jack stood dripping and blinking in the warmth and light of the foyer. Swann shut the door, then joined the others, eyeing him with some disapproval.

Elizabeth said, “Where’s the _Black Pearl_, Jack? Is everything all right?”

“Bein’ careened, back on Tortuga,” Jack managed. Oh, Lord. He could feel a sneeze coming on. He groped beneath the sodden cloak for a pocket handkerchief.

“He’s brought us Christmas gifts!” Will said to Elizabeth.

“Gifts! Oh, Jack! You’ve come for Christmas?”

“Aye,” said Jack, found the lace-edged wipe in the nick of time, gasped a bit and sneezed into it violently. Then he looked up at their startled faces with rheumy eyes. “Only I’ve caught a cold, so I shouldn’t…”

“Oh, Jack!” Elizabeth said again, her voice quivering with laughter as well as genuine sympathy.

“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Hathaway, kindly. “But you will catch your death, standing here in those wet clothes!”

“Yes,” exclaimed Elizabeth. “Father, you will not mind having one more guest for Christmas!”

Swann gobbled a bit. “A…this _pirate_? Elizabeth!”

“Father, he saved my life!”

“Well, yes, but… ” The Governor’s voice trailed off as he looked Jack up and down, and suddenly he chuckled. “Good God, Sparrow! You do look a wretched specimen! Worse even than on that dock all those months ago. Poor fellow. Beck! Get the man’s cloak!”

The latter was directed at Swann’s elderly butler, who gaped briefly, but then complied. He was assisted in the endeavor by Will, and by Elizabeth, who removed Jack’s hat, passing it tenderly to one of the maids. “Be careful of that, Estrella! Put it in the Rose Suite.”

“The Rose Suite? Yes, ma’am,” said Estrella, and her eyes laughed. She looked Jack over with frank interest, and said to Elizabeth, “Shall I prepare the room. Light a fire and such?”

“Good God, Jack, you’re soaked!” exclaimed Will as they got the sodden cloak off.

“The cloak’s the worst of it,” Jack said. But an unexpected shudder of ague gave the lie to this statement and Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed militantly.

“It’s _not_ the worst of it!” Elizabeth said, a little severely, “You can’t sit down to dinner like that: you _will_ catch your death, just as Mrs. Hathaway said! Estrella! Yes, run up and light the fire, and lay out towels. Charles! Get you to the kitchen. I want water boiled with all speed, and a hot bath brought up to the Rose Suite, and hot tea—or no, would you prefer mulled wine, Jack? Yes. And a plate of dinner. And some rum!”

Jack was both dismayed and delighted at all this fuss, but he was not allowed to stand amazed for long. Elizabeth and Will each took an arm and led him up the staircase, followed by Mrs. Hathaway, who clucked about the benefits of herb tea over mulled wine.

“And is he not without baggage, my dear?” Mrs. Hathaway said, sadly, adding in an arch tone, “What will he do for a nightshirt?”

But Elizabeth said, briskly, “Very true! Where are your things, Jack? Shall I send to have them fetched?”

“Don’t have much,” said Jack, “And no nightshirt at all: haven’t worn one in years! But this shirt’ll dry… “

“Oh, no!” said Elizabeth. “The weather is uncommonly cool, and you are ill! You must have a nightshirt. Father can very well spare one of his, and his second best dressing gown as well, the one he never wears. Don’t worry: there can be no difficulty. I will take care of everything!”

o-o-o

She did take care of everything, too. Almost before he knew it, he’d been stripped and set to soak in a hot bath, steam curling from water that had been slightly scented with roses, an additional kettle of it simmering on a hob by the hearth. There was also a half-tankard of mulled wine in his hand (the other half already radiating muzzy delight inside him), and a thankful prayer on his lips for darling Lizzie and her managing, imperious, demanding self.

Her wicked sense of humor, briefly glimpsed during their sojourn on The Island, had spiced this practiced hospitality. He’d exchanged a Look with her when they’d entered the Rose Suite, daintily decorated in shades of delicate pink and green, bedclothes and curtains fearfully and wonderfully embroidered. “Mrs. Hathaway prefers the view in the Blue Room,” Elizabeth had said, her voice full of suppressed glee. The tub that was presently lugged in by two burley underfootmen and placed before the cheerful fire continued the theme, its porcelain-lined interior painted with fat cherubs, ribbons and more roses. It seemed to delight her, this contrast of pale femininity and swarthy pirate, and he certainly had no real objection to it himself: he thought the decor rather soothing, actually, and in any case he’d learned long since that gift horses were not to be looked in the mouth.

Elizabeth and Mrs. Hathaway had taken themselves off while Will helped him strip the damp clothes from his aching and chilled body, but Elizabeth had returned in a few minutes, the nightshirt and the ‘second-best’ dressing gown over her arm, and Swann’s valet in tow. By then, Jack’s nakedness had been wrapped in a warm quilt, but as she introduced him to “…Peters, who has been with my Father forever!” he saw that she was coloring slightly, even so: obviously not quite the worldly matron she liked one to think her. He gave her a teasing look, letting the quilt slide off one shoulder, just a little.

Elizabeth colored even more, but she said evenly, “We shall leave you to Peters’ mercies while we finish our own dinner, but we shall bring you a tray later, when you are warm and dry.”

Peters had drawn the drapes against the waning, gray light and the rain dripping down the windowpanes while the filling of the bathtub was completed, then helped Jack in, presented him with the tankard of mulled wine that Estrella had brought up on a silver tray, and let him soak in peace, just this side of Heaven.

Jack managed to keep his eyes open until the wine was nearly gone, then was vaguely aware of Peters removing the tankard from his slackening hold, and murmured thanks. He dozed after that, while the water baked the ache and chill from his bones. Peters hovered discreetly, carefully adding more hot water near the foot of the tub as needed.

Finally Jack caught himself starting to snore and jerked awake.

“Sir,” said Peters, “shall I assist you? I believe Mrs. Turner is intending to bring you that tray of dinner soon.”

“Is she? P’rhaps I’d better get out, then. Such bad form to put one’s hostess to the blush.”

“Indeed, sir,” agreed Peters, blandly, though his eyes smiled.

Jack felt almost boneless after the long bath, and was very glad of Peters’ help. Standing before the fire on a towel placed on the rose-patterned Turkey carpet, Peters swiftly used more of the thick, soft towels to dry him, and then efficiently helped him into the big nightshirt. Jack noted the man’s surreptitious interest as these tasks were accomplished.

“Not quite what you’re used to, waitin’ on a pirate?” Jack suggested as Peters fastened the last of the ties for him.

Peters said, “You’ve certainly evidence of an adventurous life about you, Captain. But indeed, I have been in service for many years, and am quite accustomed to waiting on _gentlemen_.”

“Gentleman!” Jack protested, as a matter of course, but then encountered a pointed look from the valet. “Oh, well. Just don’t spread it about, will you? I’ve a reputation to maintain, y’know.”

“I won’t say a word,” Peters assured him.

No, he wouldn’t have to, would he? Just the fact that Swann’s high-toned valet had no objection to waiting on Jack would tell the tale.

Lizzie and Will brought him the promised tray soon after Peters had tucked him into the enormous bed, but he was already half asleep when they arrived. He made an effort to rouse himself, and they helped him to sit up, banking pillows behind him. Elizabeth took great delight in coaxing him to eat some of the delicious food, though he wasn’t really very hungry, and between bites, he answered some of their many questions about the _Pearl’s_ recent activities. But it was difficult to stay awake when one was so warm and comfortable. His eyes kept drooping, and when he finally nodded off in the middle of a story they judged it time to take their leave.

After they’d settled him again, Elizabeth placed a cool hand on his forehead, and frowned. “You are very warm.”

“’Twas the bath and the fire. Even me hair’s dry, mostly. Thank you, Elizabeth.”

She shook her head, looking fond. “We’ll check on you later, and there is a bell on the nightstand—Peters or one of the maids will come if you’ve need. Good night, Jack! Have pleasant dreams.”

_Pleasant dreams_. Could hardly be pleasanter than the waking now, could they?


	3. Close Calls

In the event, his dreams were decidedly _un_pleasant, at least the one that lingered at the edge of consciousness when he woke near dawn, aching abominably, and shivering with cold, in spite of the blankets tucked around him. He gave a soft groan of self-pity, and only then heard the sound of slippered feet coming across the room. He opened his eyes, just a crack, for the light of the single candle seemed particularly penetrating.

“Jack!” Elizabeth said softly, distressed. She put the candle on the nightstand, and sat close beside him, and put a chilly hand on his forehead.

He frowned. “You shouldn’t be here, ‘Liz’beth. I’m ill—worse than last night.”

“I can see that. Shall we not send for the doctor?”

“No!” he said, a frisson of panic running through him at the thought of being this helpless and this close in proximity to Norrington and the scaffold at Fort Charles. Good God, what had he been thinking to come here? But he subdued his fear and said, in a more controlled tone, “No, not yet. Likely I just need to rest a day or so. I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”

“Don’t be. I am glad you are here for me to coddle. Let me get the fire going again, and then I’ll see about tea. Unless you think you would rather sleep some more.”

“No. Wretched dreams, truly. A fire sounds nice. ‘s devilish cold.”

Elizabeth frowned, for the room was a little cool, the tropical storm still holding sway without, but it was not at all uncomfortable. She reached over and caught hold of a knitted throw that had lain across his feet, and wrapped it round his upper body, and around his head, saying, “I should have provided you with one of Father’s nightcaps, though truly I didn’t think you’d need it.”

“It’s this fever,” Jack murmured, quite enjoying Elizabeth’s close proximity in spite of his illness, particularly her faint, womanly scent (and a hint of roses again, was it?) and the lovely view afforded by the deep, lace-edged décolletage of her elegant dressing gown.

She sat back and looked at him, smiling at her handiwork.

Jack rolled his eyes a bit. “Don’t tell me: I look a right quiz.”

She chuckled, and rather to his surprise, she bent and kissed him on the forehead. Straightening, she said, “You do! I am quite enjoying having you at such a disadvantage. Now stay there and rest while I take care of things.”

He closed his eyes with a sigh as she rose and made herself busy with the fire. He had no difficulty following her orders, for although it was comforting listening to her bustle about, he had absolutely no desire to get out of bed himself. Keeping still was another matter, for he could not seem to help the odd twitch and restless movement inspired by the feverish aching. His very hair seemed to hurt! Presently he heard the door creak, and Mrs. Hathaway’s voice, addressing Elizabeth. He was aware of the two consulting in low tones, and then their voices seemed to fade.

He woke again when they returned later, with Peters. The three bullied him into drinking a medicinal tisane Mrs. Hathaway had concocted. Fortunately this was followed by sweetened tea with a touch of rum, and some crisp lightly buttered toast, and an egg. Whether it was the breakfast or the rum, or Mrs. Hathaway’s rather nasty brew, he began to feel a bit better, and drifted into a fitful doze for the rest of the morning.

Will came in at noon, and brought lunch: a mildly spiced chicken soup and good bread and butter, a weak rum punch, and more of the tisane. “Smells devilish!” Will commented, handing him the dish. “But they told me to make you drink it before giving you the rest.”

“It _is_ devilish!” Jack said, groused. “Bloody, managing women. If I wasn’t afraid it was that that eased me aches this morning, I’d throw it in the fire!”

Will laughed.

After lunch, Jack fell into a deeper more restful sleep, and woke again only as the light was fading toward the evening. Elizabeth came in to check on him, beautifully dressed for dinner.

“Hullo, Lizzie,” he murmured, pleased to wake to this vision.

“Hullo, Jack!” she smiled, and sat beside him, her skirts rustling pleasantly. “You look a little better!”

“I am a bit better, I think,” he agreed, though he was not inclined to test this theory too hastily by moving. He did close his eyes as she put her hand against his forehead again.

“I believe your fever is down! Mrs. Hathaway’s remedy appears to be working.”

“I was afraid of that. What’s in it? No! Don’t tell me. Probably best I don’t know, if I’ve to drink any more of it.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Yes, she is preparing another draught with her own hands as we speak! But there will be mulled wine, like you had last night, and some dinner—pigeon pie! Unless you feel that would be too heavy for you?”

“No! It sounds delicious!” He looked at her, suddenly serious. “You’ve all gone to a great deal of trouble for me. Not sure what to say to that, or how to thank you.”

Elizabeth’s eyes smiled, but she shook her head, pursing her lips. “Fie, Jack! These modest airs don’t suit you in the least! You know quite well you are worth any amount of trouble! Indeed, we all bask in the glow of your presence, which provides endless fodder for conversation! Mrs. Hathaway is quite smitten, and even Father has come ‘round to thinking it most amusing that he has such an interesting guest in his house for the holidays.”

“That right?” Jack chuckled. “And here I didn’t bring him a gift.”

“I daresay you can make it up to him some time,” Elizabeth smiled. “Indeed, I dearly wish you were free to come to Port Royal and visit us more often, and without worrying about being laid by the heels. It is most unfortunate that James is so very much the Slave of Duty.”

“Aye, it is. Thank God he don’t know I’m here! I’m in no state to be making sudden, daring escapes, even with Will’s help!”

o-o-o

The next day, Christmas Eve, Jack awoke well after dawn. The rain still persisted, but the aches and fever of the day before were blessedly absent. He felt weak as a kitten though, and lay in the luxurious bed very much savoring his current situation. Faint sounds of movement in other rooms came to his ears, and he noticed that his own fire had been lit: apparently someone had been to check on him earlier and had left him to wake in his own good time.

This consideration for his comfort, and the memory of the care and companionship he’d received the previous day--even the Governor had paid him a visit after dinner, and Jack had enjoyed a half hour of light flirtation with Mrs. Hathaway as well, with Elizabeth looking on, torn between laughter and disapproval--made him wonder at the good fortune that had brought him into the orbit of these good souls. Wicked as he was, he must have at least once done something spectacularly good to deserve this, though for the life of him he couldn’t recall the particulars of such an unusual event. Giving up such deep conjecture as a bad job, he gave a deep sigh of contentment and decided instead to simply devote himself to appreciating the result.

Cook had made a wonderful breakfast, and presently Elizabeth and Will both brought in the tray, and then stayed to visit with him while he picked at the ham, buttered eggs, toasted sweetbread, and sliced fruits they’d brought. He drank a good deal of sweetened tea, though he gently but firmly eschewed the Hathaway Tisane: “No, I’m much better this morning, really! Just a little tired…”

After breakfast and much desultory conversation, he was ready for another nap, and fell deeply asleep, listening to the patter of the rain against the windows.

It was mid-afternoon when he woke next, and he noticed some changes right away: the rain had finally stopped, or at least was light enough to be unnoticeable from within the house; and he felt stronger, though now other symptoms were manifesting, specifically a stuffy nose, and a slight but persistent cough. He was thirsty, and he needed something hot to drink: tea, or, even better, rum punch. Yes.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lain so long abed (uninjured, at least), and decided it might do him good to get up and go in search of the libation himself, rather than bothering the servants. His knees seemed a bit shaky as he got up, but he managed it and donned the ‘second-best dressing gown’ (a pleasingly gaudy affair) without difficulty, and there was even a pair of slippers by the bed. Feeling happy and just a little ridiculous in these borrowed clothes that were far too large for him, he left the room and padded down the hall. He met no one, but as he descended the stairs he thought he heard Elizabeth’s voice, coming from within the parlor, the door of which was at the foot of the stairs. Probably consulting with the housekeeper about Christmas Eve dinner, and preparations for tomorrow!

But it was not the housekeeper that met his startled gaze when he popped his head in, saying, “Lizzie! I…oh.” He broke off, and froze. It was bloody Norrington!

It was an awkward moment, no doubt of it. Jack couldn’t for the life of him help his widened eyes and slightly dropped jaw, and Elizabeth had the oddest look on her face, halfway between fear and chagrin, and she was coloring to the roots of her hair. Jack knew what it was: she’d been denying that there was even so much as a whiff of pirate in the best spare bedroom. And here he was, giving her the lie.

“Sparrow!” said Norrington, sounding amused. “How good of you to join us.”

The man was precise to a pin in his uniform, complete with Turner sword. He was taller than Jack remembered, but the cool green eyes and sardonic expression were all too familiar. Jack, feeling very much at a disadvantage dressed as he was in Swann’s nightwear, was momentarily bereft of speech, an almost unprecedented occurrence that he later insisted was doubtless due to his recent malady.

Norrington’s lip twitched. “I take it you’ve been ill?” he suggested, gesturing to Jack’s attire.

Jack found his voice, more or less. “Aye. I was.” He coughed slightly, illustrating the point.

“James!” Elizabeth began, but Norrington cut her off.

“Mrs. Turner, will you be so kind as to leave us for a few minutes,” Norrington said, coolly. “I wish to speak with Captain Sparrow in private, if I may. I’ll have another word with you, later, before I go.”

There was just a suggestion of a promise of a possibly unpleasant reckoning in his voice, and Elizabeth stiffened, and reddened even more. However, she said with tolerable composure, “Yes. Very well. Jack, I expect you and the Commodore would like refreshments. I’ll send tea in, directly.”

And my sword, too, if you please, Jack thought, as she walked past him and out the door. He glanced about the room for escape routes. It would be difficult, as ill as he had been and dressed as he was, but he’d squeezed out of tighter corners than this one and had no doubt he could do so again, if it came to that.

But the Commodore said evenly, “Close the door, if you please, and come take a seat, Captain Sparrow,” and gestured to the wing chairs by the fire.

Jack hesitated for just a moment before pulling the door shut, the latch making an ominous click. He then padded over the thick carpet and sat down, inwardly alert, outwardly calm.

Norrington took the chair opposite him, crossed one booted leg over the other, and tilted his head, considering Jack thoughtfully. “You do look different without your…er…accoutrements, Captain.”

“Aye, well, the Governor was kind enough to lend me his things, seein’ as I’d left me own on that little tub I came over on.” Jack tilted his chin slightly, uncomfortable in the extreme.

“Yes,” said Norrington. “I actually recognize the dressing gown. I believe it’s the same one I gave the Governor on his birthday a year ago.” The Commodore permitted himself to smile slightly at Jack’s stunned gaze.

“_You_ bought him this?” Jack exclaimed, quite horrified to think Norrington had come to the Swann Estate only to find his sworn enemy parading about in the Governor’s birthday gift.

“Yes,” said Norrington. “But Lieutenant Gillette picked it out for me. I thought at the time that it was a bit…er…_sudden_ for the Governor’s exacting tastes, but it seems to suit you quite admirably.”

“That’s not…I mean…um…thanks. I think.”

“Not at all. I must say, however, the bright colors make you look a trifle peaked. ”

Jack bridled. “You’d look a bit peaked yourself, in similar circumstances, mate.”

“No doubt,” agreed Norrington. “I trust you are on the road to recovery.”

“Yes. Thanks,” said Jack. He cleared his throat, then went on, in as honest a tone as he could conjure up. “Look, I came to give the Turners their Christmas gifts, and was took ill. They were kind enough to let me stay, and I’d be that upset if they were to find any trouble by it, if you get me meanin’.”

Norrington raised an eyebrow. “Should I construe that as a threat, Captain?”

Jack sighed. “Commodore, it’s me you’re after, not those children, nor the Gov’nor, neither. It was just kindness, was all. Christian charity!”

Norrington studied Jack for a long moment, and then said, “Have you not noticed I’ve not been ‘after’ you, either, of late, Captain?”

Jack stared. He said slowly, “I had noticed, actually.”

Norrington nodded. “The _Black Pearl_ has been remarkably circumspect about the nationality of its victims during the last year. In fact, I seem to have heard of one instance where you and your crew rescued a number of unfortunates off the _Queen Anne_, which was set upon and sunk by some French corsairs.”

“Oh, aye. You heard about that, did you? Bad business that. Blastin’ the bejeezus out of ‘em even after they’d abandoned ship for the longboats. Unsportin’ of the Frenchies, to say the least. Had to take ‘em to task a bit for it.”

“Yes. I heard they got the bad end of that bargain. The _Black Pearl_ was unscathed?”

“Aye. Nothin’ to that, though. She’s fair unbeatable, with a good crew, an’ me in command.”

Norrington smiled. “No false modesty, eh, Captain?”

“None,” Jack said, simply. “She’s mine. Always was. I was young, an’ a bit too trustin’ belike, when I captained her before. Barbossa took her then, and used her hard, but her heart was mine, an’ she was always waiting for me to get her back. An’ now I have ‘er, an’ I’ll go down with ‘er someday, maybe, but I won’t leave her again, nor let anyone take her.”

“And where is she now, Captain Sparrow?”

“Ah!” said Jack. “That’s for me to know, innit? Needed careenin’, so Gibbs is seein’ to it, over the holidays. But we’ll be back out in another few weeks, Commodore, headin’ out to the horizon.”

Norrington nodded. “And still staying clear of the English, no doubt.”

“Likely enough, aye,” said Jack. “Spanish and French make richer prizes.”

“They do,” agreed Norrington, “and as we are at war with those countries at present, I have a proposition to present to you, Captain.”

Jack stared. “You mean…”

“A Letter of Marque,” Norrington affirmed. “I think, if you consider, you will see that it would be of great advantage to you and your crew. And it would make it so much easier for me to turn a blind eye to today’s meeting, as well as easing the way for future visits to Port Royal.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” said Jack, slowly. Lord! To think of being able to come right up to the docks here, and to visit any time they had a mind! “If you’re serious, I’ll think about it, and I’ll have to speak with me crew. But I think they might like the idea. They’re good men. ‘Cept for Ana, of course. But good pirates, all.”

“Good pirates,” Norrington repeated. “There was a time, not so long since, when such a phrase would have seemed an oxymoron. I have you to thank for my enlightenment, I think.”

“Happy to oblige, Commodore,” smiled Jack. “And may I extend my thanks and that of my crew for the ‘one day’s head start’.”

“You heard about that at the wedding, I gather.” Norrington nodded.

Jack stared again. “You knew I was there?”

“Oh, yes. I was pleased to find that my trust in your good behavior was justified. You were a model of gentlemanly decorum.”

Jack looked thoroughly disconcerted, and said with some belligerence, “Well, it was Lizzie an’ Will’s wedding! Could hardly cut loose and be myself at a function as insipid an’ la-di-dah as that! You’ll just have to come on a little voyage with us on the _Pearl_ some time, eh? Then you’ll see the real Captain Sparrow!”

Norrington looked rather intrigued. “I shall very much look forward to it, Captain. Very much, indeed!”


	4. Christmas Gifts

Elizabeth was so relieved by James’ lenient attitude toward her out-and-out lie, and so overjoyed that he seemed to have no plans to arrest their houseguest, that she was moved to invite the Commodore to dinner on the morrow, Christmas Day. Norrington accepted with alacrity, and took his leave.

“What did he say to you?” Elizabeth demanded, climbing the stairs beside Jack, a tray in her hands: he was finally going to get his tea.

“Oh, this an’ that. Rather surprising, really. Offered me a Letter of Marque, if I care to take one.”

Elizabeth almost dropped the tray. “Jack! Really?”

He took the tray from her with a little smirk, and continued up the stairs. “Aye, ‘really!’ Only don’t go tellin’ everyone just yet. I need to consult with the crew before I sign anything.”

“Yes! Yes, of course. Oh, my Lord, what a relief. I thought I would have an apoplexy when Beck announced him, and then when _you_ walked in…! My hair hasn’t quite turned white, has it?”

“Not noticeably. Sorry to’ve scared you like that. Not feelin’ quite meself, or I would’ve gone more warily. Still, it seems to’ve worked out for the best, eh?”

“Yes, indeed!”

o-o-o

After tea with Lizzie, Jack had another long nap and by evening was feeling quite refreshed, and able to don his full piratical regalia, for he was to join his hosts for supper in the elegant dining room he’d so far seen only from without, on that first day, standing in the rain.

His clothes had been carefully cleaned at some point during the last few days. Peters brought them in, and Jack allowed the valet to help him dress. Jack was a little tired by the time they’d finished, but the result was quite satisfactory.

“This is more like!” Jack commented, looking in the mirror, and striking an attitude.

Peters smiled. “A great improvement over the nightshirt and dressing gown, sir.”

“Aye. And those knitted slippers. Wonder what Norrington thought o’ those, eh?”

“I believe Miss Elizabeth made him a pair for Christmas two years ago, so it is likely he recognized those, too.”

Jack shook his head, chuckling.

o-o-o

Christmas Eve dinner was everything Jack had imagined it would be: food of a variety and abundance to gladden the heart of one who’d occasionally had to do without during the course of an erratic career; wine of a quality rarely seen in the Caribbean; table settings that fairly glowed in the light of many candles; and company that was ready to smile, and laugh, and be astonished as the quintessential pirate regaled them with exciting, humorous, and mostly true stories, and had interesting, though somewhat more mundane, tales of their own to tell. Jack realized he was letting his guard down more than he should, perhaps—the Governor, in particular, seemed astonished at Jack’s polite manners, and that he knew which fork to use, and all--but the relief of being on the mend after such a brief but dreadful illness, and the surprising outcome of his encounter with the Commodore made him very receptive to the holiday spirit that pervaded the atmosphere, and he took this as his excuse. It had been a very long time since he’d enjoyed a Christmas Eve like this, after all, and he found that he had missed it. But perhaps…just perhaps…this would be the first of many.

His only disappointment (and he would barely admit such a thing, even to himself) came after the long dinner, when the others made ready to go to the midnight service at the church. As Elizabeth donned her gloves and elegant wrap, she turned to Jack who had stayed up to see them off.

“Perhaps if you come to us next year, you will be in better health and able to attend with us. The church is always beautifully decorated with flowers, and Reverend Daniels is musically inclined, so we sing and sing--all the old hymns and carols!”

“Sounds delightful. But no worries,” said Jack, lightly. “I’ve not been much of a church-goer in recent years, except when disguised as a parson, of course.”

Elizabeth chuckled, but was not fooled. She said, “We’ll miss you!” and then kissed Jack on the cheek and whispered, “We’ll come see you after!”

“It’ll be halfway to dawn, by then!” Jack whispered back. But Will grinned and winked at him.

Jack watched them drive away, then went up to his room, weary and, oddly enough, a bit blue-deviled to see the evening end in such an anticlimactic fashion. He might not be one of the faithful, but he did enjoy good theater, and unlike the usual Sunday service, the one at midnight on Christmas Eve was generally marked by a warm-hearted showmanship that served to instill one with a happy holiday glow. He said as much to Peters as the man helped him undress.

But Peters said, “The service will no doubt be inspirational, but you must not jeopardize your recovery. Considering the severity of your recent illness it is not surprising you are feeling a little low. You must give yourself a little more time to fully regain your health and spirits.”

Jack agreed that this was true, and went to bed cheering himself with the thought of presenting his gifts to Elizabeth and Will on the morrow.

But the Turners were true to their word. Jack woke, coughing and a bit disoriented, a couple of hours later. When he stopped and was finally able to hear, faint sounds of the party returning from church came to his ears: various voices engaged in merry speech and laughter and then snatches of song—_The Holly and the Ivy_, was it? And then _Here We Come A-Wassailing_, with Will singing harmony to Elizabeth’s melody: ‘He can _sing_: fancy that!’ Jack thought. He lay there in the darkness, listening, but he must have begun to doze, for suddenly he came awake again with a start. There were footsteps outside his room, and then a scratching at the door. He struggled to sit up, the room dim in the light of the small fire Peters had left burning. The door opened and Elizabeth peeked in.

“Oh, lovely! You’re awake!”

“Difficult to sleep with all that merry racket you two were making,” Jack managed to retort, before the words deteriorated into another fit of coughing.

Apparently he’d dropped off for some time: Elizabeth now wore the nightgown and robe Jack recalled so fondly from his first night with them, and Will was down to his shirt and breeches, and bare feet. They’d come in and shut the door, and now came across the room, Will holding a tray with what appeared to be refreshments on it, and Elizabeth carrying two brightly wrapped packages: gifts!

“Poor Jack!” said Will. “Your cough sounds worse. But I’ve something here that’ll set you up nicely: hot rum punch! We’ll give a toast to good company, and to Christmas Morning, for it _is_, you know!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Jack said, brightly. “Is that why you’ve brought presents? I like presents.” Jack gave Elizabeth a suggestive smile and eyed her burden with interest.

She laughed. “How fortunate, for we’ve brought you some!”

Jack scooted back, making room for them on the bed, but said, “I’ve some for you, too! They’re over on the dresser.”

“You take these, then, and I’ll fetch yours,” said Elizabeth.

Jack took the gifts and began to examine them closely, turning them over, and shaking them gently. “This one’s…clothing of some kind. A shirt, maybe?”

Will laughed, and Elizabeth, returning, pouted. “You’re not supposed to _guess!_” She sat down on the bed, curled her legs under her, and took the cup of punch Will was handing her.

“But that’s half the fun!” Jack objected. He coughed again, and Will gave him a cup, as well. He took a deep, appreciative sip, then said, “Oh, Lord, yes. That’s good! Did you make it yourself?”

“No!” said Will. “The Governor did! He and Mrs. Hathaway are…er…_communing_ in the library.”

“So he knows you’re both up here keeping me feet warm?” Jack wiggled said appendages against them, under the covers, and leaned back against the headboard, drinking his punch, quite bemused.

But Elizabeth said, “Well, not precisely. But it’s not as though we are doing something _wicked_!”

“No. More’s the pity,” mourned Jack, with an elaborate sigh, and a Look at the two of them.

Elizabeth burst into delighted laughter, and Will returned Jack’s sudden grin.

“Oh, you are dreadful!” chuckled Elizabeth.

“Pirate!” Jack said, as one stating the obvious.

“Pirate, indeed,” laughed Will. “Open your gifts.”

Jack had been right about the shirt, a very fine one, with beautiful wide lace at the cuffs. The other gift, from Will, was a knife. “God’s teeth, lad! It’s a work of art!” Jack said, holding it up. “And what’s this? My initials?”

Will looked pleased, and said, “I started it weeks ago. Somehow I thought…well, we’d _hoped_ you’d come to us for Christmas. It almost seemed nonsensical, and yet here you are!”

Jack shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if there isn’t something to that _predestination_ the clerics natter on about. Here, now: open yours, Will.”

Elizabeth watched with curiosity and anticipation as Will opened his little package, and when he finally held up the stickpin, she gave a little gasp. “Oh! It’s lovely!”

Will said, in wonder, “A black pearl!” He looked at Jack. “The perfect reminder of the days that changed my life. Thank you!”

But Jack shook his head. “Seems a poor gift, really, next to what you’ve given me this year. ‘Thank you’ falls rather short of the mark, I think.”

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said, thoughtfully. “Perhaps that was predestined, too. It all worked out so well, in the end. For us, at least.”

“Yes,” agreed Will. “For us.”

Jack knew they were thinking of the unfortunate soldiers who’d fought and died on the _Dauntless_, and of Barbossa’s men, released from that terrible curse only to be killed by sword, or by rope. He raised his cup. “We’ll drink a toast! To Norrington and his men, for doing what they did, and doing what they didn’t. And to God’s mercy on ‘em all.”

“Hear, hear!” agreed Will and Elizabeth together.

o-o-o

The sun shone brightly on the rain washed landscape of Port Royal that Christmas Day, yet even with this inducement it was past noon by the time the Governor and his family and guests emerged from their respective bedchambers, for their indulgence of the Christmas Spirit had continued until night was ready to give way to morning. All had slept well, however, under the lingering effects of warm fellowship and rum punch, and the group that gathered on the back terrace for a (very) late breakfast was full of affectionate cheer.

“Mrs. Hathaway,” the Governor said to his old friend, “I protest, you look ravishing in that silk shawl, as I knew you would. I do have excellent taste!”

“You do, Weatherby, and I must say, this is like to become one of my most prized possessions! The colors! And it has such a lovely _feel_ to it! I do thank you, again. You are too kind.”

“Not at all, my dear. And I will treasure your gift to me, as well. Elizabeth! Only fancy: Mrs. Hathaway has given me a fan!” Swann produced the beautifully painted accessory from his coat pocket, snapped it open with a flourish, and wafted it lazily, in the accepted mode.

Elizabeth clapped her hands together, laughing. “Oh, Father! I never thought to see you indulge in such an affectation, but indeed, it quite suits you. But look, both of you, what Jack has given _me_!” She reached into the pocket of her gown and drew out a small box.

“A snuff box!” exclaimed Mrs. Hathaway. “And such an elegant one, too!”

“A snuff box?” The Governor frowned. “I am not at all sure I like my daughter indulging in such a habit.”

But Mrs. Hathaway said, “Oh, nonsense, Weatherby! Our good Queen Anne and her ladies are much addicted to the use of snuff. Why, I take it myself, on occasion.”

Elizabeth flicked the little box open, one-handed, as Jack had shown her. “Would you care for some, ma’am?”

“Thank you, my dear. I believe I would.” She took a pinch and inhaled it with practiced ease. “That is a very good blend, too!” she commented. She turned to Weatherby, smiling roguishly. “Mr. Hathaway used to take a pinch from my wrist, now and again. Said it gave it that ‘certain something!’”

Swann’s lips twitched. “I daresay, Augusta. You miss him sadly, I know.”

Mrs. Hathaway sighed. “Yes, very much. Although the widowed state does have its advantages, too. Hubert left me a very adequate portion, and life goes on in spite of my loss.” The roguish smile reasserted itself as she eyed her old friend.

Elizabeth’s father cleared his throat, slightly, and said, “Yes. Yes, indeed.” He turned to his daughter. “The box looks to be a pretty thing. Yes. But this picture on it: precisely what are those satyrs and nymphs getting up to?” Swann turned a penetrating eye on Jack.

“They’re frolicking,” Jack said, returning the look with a bland one of his own.

“Frolicking?”

“Aye.”

“Is that what they’re calling it, these days?”

Jack fought against laughter.

Elizabeth chuckled outright, but added, “Now no more criticism of my gift, for I love it, and there’s an end. But look what Jack has given Will!”

The company all looked, and Will gestured to the pin in his snowy cravat.

“A black pearl!” exclaimed Swann, diverted. “Rare indeed, and in such an elegant setting. Now that is a most appropriate gift. Well done, Sparrow!”

Jack inclined his head, basking once more in the sunshine of his host’s approval.

o-o-o

Later that afternoon, Will took Jack on a walk to look once again at the little house he shared with his Elizabeth, and to see how the work of repairing it was progressing. “An inch of water over most of the ground floor. It quite ruined the carpets—wedding gifts from her aunt! And of course the floors will need refinishing.”

“Do you like living here?” asked Jack.

“In the Governor’s pocket, you mean?” Will chuckled. “I admit, I was against it at first, but could find no way to refuse such a gift. But it’s worked out very well. He has been all that is kind, and is very generous to me. We have a housekeeper, and Elizabeth has the help of his other servants when she needs it. I am able to concentrate on improving my craft. But indeed, I have more orders for weaponry than I can readily fill right now, and I know I have Norrington to thank for that.”

Jack nodded. “He’s a good man.”

“He is,” Will agreed. He looked at Jack. “But he would not have done for Elizabeth, I think.”

Jack smiled crookedly. “I think it likely she would’ve driven him mad!”

Will said, “She’s a bit headstrong at times,” and then grinned at Jack’s snort of laughter. “Well, very much headstrong. But one only needs to know how to go on with her.”

“Coercion, alternated with wheedling,” nodded Jack. “I know.”

“Yes! And a great deal of love.”

“And love. You’re a fortunate man,” Jack said, serious for once.

“God!” exclaimed Will. “I know it! It’s a tale for the ages, not a doubt of it. Sometimes I think it’s all a dream and I’ll wake up, still working for Brown and worshipping from afar.”

“She don’t want worshipping,” said Jack.

Will grinned. “I determined that, finally, as you may have noticed.”

“Aye. I did.”

Will hesitated, then said, “But of the three of us, you knew it, didn’t you?”

Jack shrugged. “I’ve known a lot of women. Can’t say as I understand ‘em all, but Elizabeth…well, she’s like me, in some ways.”

“Yes.” Will’s eyes flicked away, to the little house so near the cliff’s edge. Then he said, “I wanted to ask you…if anything happened to me, would you help her?”

Jack frowned. “You’re asking me? A pirate?”

“A privateer soon, from what I understand.”

“All right. A privateer, perhaps. Still, it’s more likely something would happen to me, don’t you think?”

“But if it didn’t…I don’t know: there’s something about her. Something that might break, rather than bend. Do you understand?”

Jack considered, thinking of his own life, and then of what hers had been. Finally he nodded. “Aye, I do.”

“Then can I ask that of you? A promise to help her, should she have need.”

Jack smiled. “You risked it all for me, lad. How could I not promise to help, where I can?”

Will smiled, too, and nodded. “Good. For… she cares for you, too, you know. We both do.”

Jack shook his head, exasperated with all this plain speaking. “And how could I not know that, after the last few days, eh?”

o-o-o

“Do you think he knew? That he would… die, untimely?” A frown was in Elizabeth’s eyes as she looked into Jack’s, recalling him to the present.

“Knew?” Jack shook his head. “No! No man knows, or even really thinks of it seriously, in his heart. We’re all immortal, ain’t we? ‘Til the time comes.” He kissed her lips, then placed his forehead against hers. “No,” he said, very low. “He didn’t know, but he loved you. He wanted you to be happy, always, even without him, if it came to that.”

Tears threatened, and Jack pulled her close. She came, unresisting, and clung to him, biting her lip. After a moment, she took a shaky breath. “Thank you for keeping your word to him,” she whispered, and held her cheek warm against his.

He smiled. “Oh, aye, a great sacrifice that was, fulfilling a promise that essentially makes you mine!”

She stilled, and drew back, and looked at him. And achieved a pout. “Yours! And what makes you think I’m _yours_, Pirate?”

His smile slipped. He rolled her onto her back, pressing her into the bed, and for a long moment he looked down at her, as beautiful as when he’d first seen her, but with a womanly tenderness that had not been evident in the spirited girl she’d been five years before.

He asked her, his voice a rough caress, “Are you not mine, then, Elizabeth? Are you not?”

But then his kiss held her silent, and he spent a great deal of the next hour endeavoring to influence her reply.

** _ Finis _ **


End file.
